


Skeletons and Consequences

by Herk



Series: The Life and Love of Mycroft Holmes [16]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Complete, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, Greg Feels, Greg has friends, Hurt, M/M, Mycroft Feels, Mycroft doesn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-22 23:01:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9629036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herk/pseuds/Herk
Summary: Mycroft lied to Gregory. He lied when they barely knew each other. He lied when they became friends. He lied when they became involved. He lied even after they got married.Greg thought he could deal with My's secrecy until he found out it wasn't just about the job...Takes place in the aftermath of Season 4 and deals with the Eurus fallout. Direct continuation of "Skeletons in the Closet"





	1. Day One - part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to Dimar for the punctuation.  
> Thanks to Ariana DeVere for her transcripts who were extremely helpful for parts of this.

After the driver let him off at his home, Mycroft stood at the door for a moment composing himself. Gregory would be home and awake by now after accompanying his brother and John to London last night and he doubted their conversation would be pleasant.

He was exhausted and hungry and needed a hot bath and about fourteen hours of sleep before he would feel even remotely human again. A tiny part of him wished that Gregory wouldn’t be home so he could get at least some rest before he had to face him. Which was ridiculous of course - avoiding the inevitable wouldn’t do any good in the long run.

He sighed and opened the door.

“I was wondering when you’d finally show up.”

Gregory stood in the hallway his arms crossed. Apparently he’d heard or seen the car dropping him off.

“I came here right after the necessary debriefing.”

“And took your sweet time actually coming in. Did you really think you could avoid this?”

“Hardly. Can we not do this in the hallway.?” Mycroft really grasped at straws now.

Gregory’s jaw worked in frustration but he gave a crisp nod. “Living room or kitchen - your choice.”

Mycroft cringed at the cool controlled tone of voice. He turned to the living room. At the moment he didn’t think he could face the cool, modern kitchen. The warm coziness of the living room might help at least a little bit. Once inside he let himself drop on the couch.

Gregory remained standing his arms still crossed.

“You have no idea how lucky you are that I had a whole night to cool off already.”

Mycroft swallowed once. “Sherlock…”

“Is doing fine considering the circumstances. This is not about him so stop distracting.” Greg had really tried to keep his countenance, to stay calm. But now that he’d started that option was out of the window. “I tried calling you yesterday. Someone I don’t know answered the line and informed me that you were in a hospital after an explosion at 221b and no one knew whether you’d pull through. He refused to tell me anything else though. I called Anthea to get the fucking hospital out of her, already rushing to my car to make my way back to the city centre, only to learn that you were actually OK and had just felt the need to go undercover. Without taking the time to inform me. You usually manage to remember just fine so I guess you were a bit distracted. By your murderous BLOODY SISTER - whose existence you’ve never mentioned to me!”

Mycroft’s mumbled “I’m sorry,” was hardly audible.

“For what exactly, husband-mine? For scaring the life out of me by letting me think you were about to die? For letting Anthea spill the beans to me over the phone when she needed someone she trusted overseeing the cleanup in Musgrave? For lying to me for YEARS?! I mean I get that you’d hardly tell some random copper you just met. Not when you lied to your own bloody parents and Sherlock for decades. You’ve been psychologically manipulating your own family so of course you wouldn’t mention Eurus to someone else. Who was I to think that us being MARRIED meant anything?”

“Gregory…”

“Don’t you try to weasel your way out of this!”

“I’m not, I… I don’t know what else to say other than I deeply regret my actions.” Mycroft studied a point on the floor slightly to the right and behind his husband’s feet.

“Is that supposed to be an excuse? Because IF you mean it that way, let me tell you it SUCKS. I know fully well that you will always have secrets, I entered into this relationship knowing that. But I always assumed that that meant your bloody job. Now when you didn’t tell me about Mary I was disappointed when I found out. But that was Mary’s and John’s secret to share. But this? It’s your fucking family. It’s MY fucking family - or did you forget that inconvenient little fact, husband-mine?”

“Gregory…”

“Don’t you DARE ‘Gregory’ me right now. The only reason I’m not shoving you into the nearest fucking wall is that I’m better than that.” Greg started pacing. “Eurus... I’ve worked with your brother for over ten years, I helped him get clean - or as clean as Sherlock ever gets. I’ve ALWAYS had his back. I’ve always had YOUR back long before we ever got together. I stayed with him despite the fact that he KILLED a man in cold blood. I stayed with YOU no matter what happened. And apparently that earns me NOTHING when it comes to trust.”

“That’s not true.” Mycroft straightened and looked his husband in the eye for the first time.

“Well, it sure feels like it.”

“Gregory…”

His tone was so miserable that Greg for a moment wished he could simply forgive him.

“What? Give me a reason, Mycroft. Any reason…”

“Eurus has always been… a sore point.”

“That’s your reason? It’s uncomfortable? It wasn’t so uncomfortable that you couldn’t take care of her in the background, wasn’t it? It wasn’t so uncomfortable that Anthea couldn’t know about it, right?” Greg had grown pale from anger. “Explain to me how you could talk about the stupid dog that never existed as if it was real. But not about your sister.”

Gregory stared at him, expecting something - anything - to help make sense of what he’d learned.

And Mycroft didn’t even know where to start.

“Eurus is… Eurus always was… a painful subject. Sherlock decided to delete her completely, he changed Viktor into a pet to somehow make it less painful to deal with and we all... adapted. Talking about Redbeard the dog became second nature to the whole family. It happened automatically and in a way it made things easier for all of us - certainly for my parents.

And Eurus - we didn’t talk about her at all. We couldn’t risk confronting Sherlock with it and the subject was too depressing for my parents. I… I was the only one who had to deal with the reality of Eurus and I had to do it alone.”

Greg had held himself back until now, forcing Mycroft to continue through his silence. But now he simply couldn’t stay quiet.

“You didn’t have to - not anymore.”

Hearing the quiet sadness in Gregory’s voice, the immense stupidity of his own actions hit Mycroft. He’d been so used to secrecy and carrying the burden alone that the thought of telling anyone - even his husband - had never crossed his mind. He grew pale and just stared at his lover not saying anything.

After a moment Greg shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

Mycroft looked up in surprise.

“I promised Sherlock, I’d take care of you but right now… I don’t think I can. I’m still far too pissed.”

Mycroft blinked. There really was nothing he could say, no argument to make. Gregory had all the right in the world to be angry with him.

Greg’s hand combed through his hair. “Look, I thought I could do this. Shout at you, get it out of my system, then be there for you. But I don’t think I can.”

Mycroft noticed how Gregory’s eyes teared up. Judging by the movement of his Adam’s apple his throat was feeling rather tight too. Mycroft felt his own panic rising.

“I… I think I need more time to wrap my head around things. I will take up John on his offer and crash with him for now.”

“You’re what?”

“Crash at John’s place. He says he’ll be grateful for the grown-up company and I need the distance right now.”

Mycroft felt like a prisoner with the walls rapidly closing in on him. But he couldn’t let Gregory see how much this affected him. He’d done enough to his husband already.

“Is that quite necessary?”

Greg sighed and turned to leave. “Actually I think it is.” He stopped for a short moment as if to add something else. But then he seemed to decide there wasn’t much to add. “I’m going to pack.”

Mycroft stared at the closed door for a long while, for once not knowing how he might repair this.


	2. Day One - part 2

About an hour later Greg and his suitcase were dropped off by a cabbie at John’s. He reasoned he could always search for a hotel later.

 

John with Rosie on his arm opened the door.

 

“Come on in.”

 

“Thanks. I really don’t want to be a bother…”

 

“Don’t be silly, Greg. Alone with Rosie I get far too few visitors anyway.” John took a look at the suitcase as they both went in. He lay down his daughter on a blanket on the floor. Rosie immediately rolled around and began crawling to reach her toys.

 

Greg smiled. “Look at that. She’ll be standing and running around in no time.”

 

John smiled as well. “I started securing the cupboards already. Do you want a beer?”

 

“God, yes.” Greg dropped on the couch and kept an eye on Rosie while John went into the kitchen to fetch them both a beer.

 

Once he returned and passed Greg the bottle Lestrade took a deep swig from it. John sat down on an armchair. Without even noticing he started playing with a rattle just outside of Rosie’s reach, resulting in happy gurgles while at the same time he talked with his friend.

 

“So you were serious about the guest bed?”

 

“Of course. Do you have any ideas how often I crashed on someone’s couch when Sherlock got too much to deal with again? Or the months I spent in my old room in Baker Street when I learned about Mary? What kind of mate would I be if I didn’t offer? I need to warn you though, Rosie might wake you from time to time.”

 

This resulted in a tired chuckle. “I think that’s a small price to pay. Thank you.” He took another mouthful of beer. “God, I’m so pissed at him.”

 

“Yeah.” There wasn’t much else to say.

 

“Keeping this a secret from me, I’ve never been so bloody angry with him in my life. Mycroft-bloody-Holmes and his fucking disregard for anyone’s feelings. This calculating, secretive son of a bitch and his whole deranged family…” He looked at the baby currently studying her wooden toy. “God, sorry. I shouldn’t be talking like that in front of her.”

 

“Don’t worry, she’s too young to repeat the words and she’s heard far worse. I usually found swearing a far better outlet for my frustration than just punching people in the face. As far as Rosie knows ‘Bloody-Holmes’ is the family name. Just don’t get loud and shouty and she’ll be alright.”

 

“How do you do that?”

 

“Do what?”

 

“Stay so bloody calm. I mean Eurus, the secrets, a psychopath once again trying to kill you - only this time it’s family?”

 

“Sherlock let me believe he was dead for over two years. Everything else seems not that important by comparison. Sherlock didn’t know and Mycroft - well let’s just say I hardly expect him to do anything else but keeping secrets. He isn’t _my_ husband.”

 

“Yeah.” Greg emptied his bottle.

 

“You want another one?” As a doctor John knew that drowning one’s sorrow wasn’t exactly a healthy way to deal with problems. As a friend he knew that sometimes in life you just needed to get seriously rat-arsed .

 

Lestrade nodded and passed the empty bottle to John.

 

…

 

Two bottles and thirty minutes later, Rosie was cuddling on her father’s arm and Greg looked at the beer bottle’s label, staring at the information without taking anything in.

 

“You know what pisses me off most? I should have known better. When I first told you I had feelings for Mycroft, you warned me. But I didn’t listen. I thought I understood him better than you. I thought the normal Mycroft rules wouldn’t apply to me. I deluded myself into believing he was something that apparently he isn’t.”

 

“Greg…” John sounded worried. After watching Mycroft for years, seeing him change after he got together with Greg - no matter how subtly - he was inclined to believe that he had been wrong with his initial assessment. And more importantly Greg had been happy. He didn’t think that all of that had been simply a lie or delusion.

 

“And the worst part? I still love him. I’m fucking furious but I can’t stop loving the git.”

 

John watched as tears began rolling down Greg’s face. There wasn’t really anything he could say to that.

 

Greg’s throat felt tight and his voice didn’t sound quite right in his ears when he asked. “How did you do it?”

 

“Do what exactly?” John repositioned Rosie on his arm.

 

“Forgive Mary?”

 

“Ah.” John fussed a bit with his daughter, contemplating his next words. He was relieved to hear that apparently Greg still hadn’t given up on his marriage. But sadly there was no easy fix, no ‘make everything alright’ button. “Time, lots of time and me sorting through it all. In the end I came to the conclusion that I loved her too much to let her go, no matter how angry I was. We still had a few shouting matches after I moved back in but less than you would expect. Magnussen’s threat, Sherlock’s troubles all that put things into perspective. Plus she was pregnant - preparing for Rosie took up most of our time and energy.”

 

Greg looked at the little girl happily snuggling to her father. “She’s a real joy and no sorrow in the world.”

 

“You should see her when she’s hungry or too tired. But yeah she’s worth every sleepless night - now listen to me spouting every parent cliché in the book.”

 

“Well, I don’t mind. And I highly doubt she will.” Greg sighed. “Just for the record  if you talk to Mycroft, I don’t want to talk to him. I doubt he would even try going through someone else anyway but… damn, who am I kidding? He will just hole up in his lair and bury himself in his work.”

 

“I’ll tell him you need time to sort things through. Unlike Sherlock, Mycroft is prone to actually listen to well-meant input from time to time.”

 

“Yeah.” Greg wasn’t convinced but there was little to no use talking about it further.


	3. Day One - part 3

Although it was the middle of the day, Mycroft decided to try and get some sleep. The longest period of rest he’d had over the last forty hours had been the few hours he’d been knocked out by the tranquilizer. He was aware that he hadn’t eaten anything for about the same time. He decided on drinking some water to fill up his empty stomach before going to sleep. He really didn’t feel like eating anything.

 

The exhaustion for once managed to knock him out almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

 

_“My-croft… Myyyy-croft” The little girl in the pigtails smiled._

 

_He could smell blood and excrement and he knew that people had died._

 

_The girl with blood on her hands giggled in delight as if she had heard the funniest thing in the world._

 

_Mycroft knew her but he didn’t know from where. He couldn’t place a name on her - nothing but the vague feeling that she should be dead and the knowledge that if she found him it would spell out his doom. His three piece suit and his umbrella didn’t provide any protection from her kind of danger. He slowly tried edging away without drawing attention._

 

_Suddenly he was lying on the ground and she was kneeling on his chest._

 

_“Look at you Mycroft - stupid, slow, useless. All that fat clogs up your brain.” He was thirteen - a fat boy, completely helpless under her tiny form. “You can’t save anybody. You couldn’t save the doggy. You couldn’t save Sherlock.”_

 

_“He certainly can’t save himself.” An adult Sherlock smirked from the side._

 

_“Help me,” Mycroft pleaded, fearing for his very life._

 

_His brother just snorted derisively. “Why would I? You never helped me. You never were of any use to anybody. Probably better when she rids this world of your useless presence.”_

 

_The little girl laughed with all the purity of joy only a five year old could feel. She stood only a few feet away from him playing an adult sized violin with her tiny, tiny fingers and Mycroft knew the strings of the instruments were made from the intestines of her victims and the corpus was made from the bones of a dog - which somehow was worse._

 

_“I don’t think I’ll kill you,” she declared happily. “Not now. First I’m going to show you to the world.”_

 

_There he stood naked, his ugliness exposed on a mountain of bodies of the people he had let down, men and women he hadn’t been able to save and Gregory looked at him in disgust. “Just kill him,” he told the little girl._

 

Mycroft woke with a start, still hearing the echo of Eurus’ laughter which at the same time had been Sherlock’s in the back of his mind. He wasn’t surprised to find his face wet from tears. He shivered under the heavy covers. He hadn’t had a nightmare like this in years.

 

Mycroft sighed and stumbled to the bathroom. He hated when his subconsciousness chose to be unsubtle like this.

 

Since it was the middle of the day, Mycroft decided to stay up and get his sleeping rhythm back under control by going to bed early in the evening. By that time he hopefully would be tired enough not to be woken by his dreams.

 

He spent the afternoon rather aimlessly. There wasn’t much work that demanded his attention and the few request he got by email were easily answered and taken care of. The house was huge and felt empty in a way it had never done before Gregory had moved in. He wondered if Sherlock had already told their parents. Since he hadn’t had any furious phone calls yet he doubted it though.

 

His inquiry after Mrs. Hudson’s health was quickly answered by his PA. Apparently the old lady was fine and already ordering people around to get the repairs on her house going. Mycroft left instructions to have the necessary repairs and renovations billed to his personal account. The whole debacle had been his fault after all. He might not especially like Mrs. Hudson but he always paid his debts.

 

He wondered where Sherlock was staying. After the explosion Baker Street was out of the question. He hadn’t suddenly appeared here. He might stay at John’s place but Gregory probably would have mentioned something to that end. If this were normal circumstances he’d probably drop in on one of the many loose acquaintances he had all over London. A surprisingly high number of those seemed ready to do him any kind of favour if he just asked.

 

But discovering Eurus’ existence could hardly be considered normal even for Sherlock’s definition of it.

 

Knowing where Sherlock decided to stay for the time being would tell him a lot about his brother’s current state of mind…

 

Mycroft sighed. His brother was a problem that he would eventually have to deal with. But there was nothing he could do right now. And trying to initiate contact would hardly do any good under the circumstances.

 

His thoughts wandered to Gregory.

 

No matter how bad things became between him and Sherlock, he had no doubt they would eventually work things out. They had gone through some bad phases in their relationship but in the end neither of them could change that they were brothers - family - no matter what.

 

He wasn’t so sure about his husband.

 

Gregory was a loyal man, a good man who loved him. But learning about Eurus - something he could only conceive as an act of fundamental betrayal on Mycroft’s part - might prove to be too much.

 

And divorces were a very real thing.

 

Mycroft opened the fridge. His body was very clearly demanding nutrition but the sight of each and every bit of food in there caused a wave of revulsion. He forced himself to eat at least a bit of whole grain bread, chewing slowly.

 

The rational part of his mind knew that he should add some butter and cheese to add protein and fats to the carbohydrates and fiber.

 

The voice in the back of his head on the other hand was already screaming about the calories.

 

Mycroft spent the next two hours on the treadmill to silence the voice to a point where he would be able to sleep.


	4. Day Two

The next day the British Government went to work.

There really was nothing else to do. Despite M’s words Mycroft knew taking a few days off without the proper preparation was a very bad idea. And with Gregory gone there was no conceivable upside to staying at home.

There were no major crises that demanded his personal attention immediately of course. The one crisis that did matter was the one he should stay away from at all cost.

He met Anthea but briefly. She was the one person to bear the majority of the consequences for his decisions and she personally took all the necessary files to whichever little conference room Sir Edwin, Lady Smallwood, and M had decided on. Her greeting wasn’t exactly frosty but formal on a level it hadn’t been since their first year working together.

Apparently his PA was preparing for the possibility that she would have to sever all ties with him.

For once Mycroft almost wished for another crisis to turn into a pressing matter that needed to be dealt with immediately. At least that would take his mind off of the mess he’d made out of everything.

Even if his usual work didn’t provide the level of distraction he would hope for, it still needed to be done, so Mycroft spent a few hours reading through reports, checking various news sources and very definitely keeping himself away from anything related to Sherrinford. Or at least he tried to. When the initial report arrived in his email account informing him that his sister had safely arrived and was now securely under lock and key, he didn’t ignore it. The fact that she now apparently had decided to completely withdraw from her surroundings surprised him. He wondered if he should feel worry or relief upon learning that Eurus now ignored all forms of communication.

There were a couple of things at Sherrinford that he feared might come under scrutiny and rules would definitely change but most questionable decisions didn’t originate with him. Back when Eurus was brought to the island and for the first couple of years of her stay there it had been Uncle Rudy pulling the strings, ensuring special treatment for his ‘troubled’ niece. Rudy was dead now for years though and Mycroft had upheld almost all of his calls.

Only time would tell and in the meantime he intended serving in his position to the best of his abilities.

In the early afternoon when he had worked uninterrupted for almost six hours the door to his office opened.

There weren’t many people coming to his underground office unheralded. With Anthea busy elsewhere and Greg as angry as he was that left only his brother. Looking up the first face he saw was another though.

“Mother, Father - please do come in.” He gestured at the chairs in front of his desk.

Neither of them had been here before. This was the place where he came to work, not the tastefully decorated, conservative, representative room he had above ground to see and be seen. His mother took it all in, the lack of light, the cold and impersonal ‘decoration’. He knew she was judging this place automatically but she didn’t comment. They were here for another reason obviously.

Sherlock stayed standing at the door, his arms folded defensively. A part of him expected Mycroft to attack him for bringing their parents here and he was ready to fight the point. He stood by his decision. Mycroft swallowed once. He wouldn’t hold this against Sherlock. It was the right call even if he himself lacked the courage to make it.

“Sherlock called us,” his mother began. “He told us about Eurus.” Her eyes drilled into him, daring him to deny the truth.

He did his best to keep up the mask, to appear unaffected - rational. “Eurus is indeed alive.”

Mummy seemed unable to believe it. “Alive?! For all these years? How is that even possible?!”

Mycroft tried to explain, tried to make her understand that it hadn’t been his idea alone. “What Uncle Rudy began… I thought it best to continue.” Mummy always had respected her brother-in-law, had held a great deal on his intellect.

Apparently it was exactly the wrong thing to say. Mummy never had any kind of patience for what she perceived as attempts to skip responsibility. “I’m not asking how you did it, idiot boy, I’m asking how could you?”

How could he? How couldn’t he? What Eurus had done to them - himself, Sherlock, his parents - was unspeakable even back then and the years had only turned her worse. “I was trying to be kind.”

Mummy and Father apparently couldn’t see his point. Or rather they disagreed so completely that his reasons were completely invalidated.

He was surprised when Sherlock of all people spoke on his behalf. Sherlock at least saw that he tried his best.

“Then he’s very limited.” Mummy’s words hit him like a hammer to the stomach.

After all this, after everything he’d done, the only thing he was, was a disappointment to the people he cared about - a failure, limited in all the worst ways. Her words hit hard because he knew them to be absolutely, terribly true. His eyes darted towards his brother’s begging for his forgiveness even if he didn’t deserve it. He knew he would never earn his parents’.

They both seemed unable to cope with the reality of what Eurus had done. They clung to the fact that she was their daughter and alive. His father accepted that she would never walk free but he still wanted to see her. Like everything with him his desire was genuine. Siger Holmes was a simple man with terribly romantic ideas. No matter what the facts were he would always feel that he should be there for his daughter. And in his heart of hearts he was probably convinced that it would somehow do some good.

Despite the fact that they rejected it before, that they despised him for it, he still tried to be kind, to spare his parents facing the reality themselves.

Which of course only earned him more scorn.

He tried to explain but they didn’t listen. And at this point he couldn’t even blame them. He had lied to them for decades whatever his reasons had been. Of course they couldn’t trust him anymore.

And then his mother turned towards his brother for help - calling him the ‘grown-up’. If it weren’t all so terribly absurd it would be a laughing matter. But like all absurdity it came from the balance between comedy and tragedy and right now Mycroft felt more like crying.

“What do we do now?”

Sherlock wasn’t all that surprised that he was asked for his opinion. It’s what he expected from the world in general and his mother specifically. He helped people with problems too big for them to solve on their own and right now there was no bigger problem - none more important - than Eurus.

He contemplated his next words carefully. He had about half a dozen ideas that might work reaching his sister but none is guaranteed to work. He could often work miracles but if Mycroft was doubtful there was a very real possibility that even he might fail.

Mycroft watched his brother, following his thought process easily. That was one thing he still could do, following the reasoning of the person he taught how to reason in the first place.

“When can you get me in there?” Sherlock now looked directly at him. He had some ideas he thought worthy enough to at least try.

Mycroft hesitated. There was a possibility he might NOT be able to get Sherlock access at all. But he wouldn’t start to discuss this in detail now. His hesitation should be enough to make Sherlock understand things were difficult. Any explanation towards his parents would be wasted time anyway. Mummy wasn’t interested in anything he had to say. She had completely turned towards her younger son, deliberately ignoring her oldest.

“Three weeks minimum.” He stated quietly.

Sherlock nodded. “And if what I plan works out - how long until you can get them access?”

Once again Mycroft took refuge in probabilities and facts. His voice was carefully controlled as he gave his best estimate. “Depending on what exactly you achieve, three days at least.”

His father looked shocked. He obviously wanted to do something to help and being confined to inactivity for almost a month seemed almost impossible to deal with.

His mother turned towards him, studying him, trying to decide whether he lied. Finding nothing she turned away again as she got out of her chair.

“Well, then I think we’re finished here. Sherlock? Would you accompany us out? The halls outside were a terrible maze.”

All three of them left without another word.

Mycroft wasn’t sure but when Sherlock shot one parting look his way he thought he saw pity. He didn’t know if that was something to be grateful for or if it somehow made this even worse.

He didn’t think he deserved pity after what he’d done.

***

Greg spent his day mostly babysitting. He should still be at that stupid seminar but after yesterday he simply didn’t see himself going back and focus on hour long workshops on policing procedures. John had opted out of going to work as well. After nearly being forced to shoot a man, witnessing several deaths, and almost drowning even a battle-hardened veteran could use a few days off. Besides he really needed to find a new therapist.

“Look if you can watch Rosie, I’ll go and do a grocery run and check on Mrs. Hudson, get her some necessities. If it’s too much I can take her with me, just say so.”

“Nah, things will be a lot easier without you having to watch her and you’ll be back faster. Besides we like each other - at the moment it feels as if she’s the only person in my life I can utterly trust - no offense.”

“None taken. Are you sure though?”

“I have three nieces and nephews, I know where the nappies are, and I have a decent enough singing voice for lullabies, so don’t worry.”

Spending a couple of hours with Rosie was exactly what the doctor had ordered. The child needed a lot of attention keeping him from spending too much time thinking about Mycroft, something he really didn’t want to do right now. And watching her laugh and take joy from the simplest things just warmed his heart.

When John came back he found Greg sprawled on the sofa with Rosie happily sleeping on him.

“You got drool all over you,” he noted with an amused twinkle in his eye.

“I don’t mind too much.”

John took his daughter and gently put her into her cot.

“Did you get everything you wanted?”

“Yes - thanks again for looking after her. Mrs. Hudson sends her best regards. She asked when you would be coming over for a visit. I think she is terribly bored at that hospital.”

Greg tried for smile but didn’t quite manage. “I’m sure she is. Look I just realised I took too few clothes considering I will probably be drooled and vomited upon quite a bit. And I need some work clothes for tomorrow. I’m afraid I will have to make a short trip home. I would rather go now while Mycroft is still very likely at work and avoid running into him.”

“You want to go to work?” John was surprised.

“Life goes on. I can’t say I’m looking forward to explain Eurus to Donovan but I won’t be able to avoid it forever. Coppers are terrible gossips and I’m sure by now half the station has heard rumours about what happened at Musgrave.”

John’s jaw clenched.

“Look I don’t like it either but those are just the realities of life. At least when I go back on schedule I will be able to do some damage control.”

John nodded. “Of course. Will you be gone long?”

“I’ll be back in time for dinner. Do you want me to bring something?”

That earned Greg a real smile. “You bring some pizza and telly tonight is your call.”

“Sounds like a deal.”  
***

When Mycroft opened the door to his home, he was greeted with an infernal level of noise. For a moment hope flared up but too many signs pointed at Gregory already having left again. Missing shoes, missing coat, the fact that he had obviously, violently kicked the small table housing the landline extension, etc. The British Government went into the living room covering his ears and killed the stereo that blasted “Anarchy in the UK” on top volume in a loop. There was a handwritten note attached to it, reading “TWAT” in Gregory’s hand.

A childish gesture but not completely unlike his husband. Mycroft recalled several occasions when Gregory had been upset with him and had shown his annoyance through his choice in music both stylistic and volume-wise. Usually they talked through their differences but sometimes - for various reasons - Gregory decided talking didn’t help anymore and had to get his point across by different means. The usual protocol was that Mycroft had to figure out what exactly his mistake had been on his own (his husband being of the opinion that it was something he SHOULD know already) and then coming to apologise for the very specific misdeed. Once Gregory was sure he actually understood what the reason behind his annoyance was and could therefore assume Mycroft would refrain from repeating it, his husband turned off the ‘music’ and all was forgiven.

Only this time Mycroft knew what he’d done wrong right from the start, had willing engaged in it. It was choice - not mistake. The volume had never been this loud before. And it wasn’t Gregory who ended the noise.

It was late and he should try to get some rest before tomorrow.

Mycroft stared at the stereo.

Even with the thick walls and doors it was astonishing that none of the neighbours had called the police. Well, he guessed the soundproofing of the house was better than even he knew.

Gregory should have been the one to turn off the CD.

Gregory wasn’t here.

Mycroft’s hand moved to the power button. Once the infernal noise started again he sank into his chair, burying his face in his hands.


	5. Day Three

Greg dreaded the thought of going to work. But there really was nothing to be done about it. With Rosie having a terrible cry and John being unable to quiet her down at least there was some advantage to leaving. He loved the child but the noise became unbearable somewhere halfway through his second cup of coffee. He apologised to John for abandoning him and left.

 

Like every day the commute was hell - one of the downsides to living in London - but Greg made it to NSY on time.

 

He greeted his colleagues and was met with more or less the usual mixture of friendly smiles and disgruntled ‘too early for me’ frowns and pretty much everything in between. When he ran into Dimmock they talked for a while about the seminar. Dimmock was thinking about applying for it as well and wanted to know if there was any use to attending and Greg was happy to supply him with information. Anything not to think about… other things.

 

No one acted out of the ordinary and he reached his desk without anyone asking after his private life.

 

Greg knew of course that some of his colleagues would have heard things. DC Wanton for example had some friends in the force up near Musgrave and a London copper dropping in on their home turf clearly would have made the rounds by now. He wondered when some of them would have the balls to actually ask him about what had happened.

 

Trust Sally Donovan to not beat around the bushes.

 

“So I heard you skipped the last day of the seminar, Boss. The Freak getting himself into trouble again?”

 

Seeing his face she immediately added. “Sorry.”

 

“Donovan, I love you dearly but you might want to find a different place to be right now.”

 

He wasn’t sure if he should be impressed that she actually stood her ground. ‘Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity’ as his husband loved to point out. Damn Mycroft for infiltrating his thoughts like this.

 

“I heard things - most people did. Is it true that there is ANOTHER one?”

 

He was tempted to tell her that that’s none of her bloody business. But he knew that would only make things worse. So he shrugged trying to act as if it wasn’t a big deal. “Don’t worry too much. That one is actually locked away safely.”

 

But he was neither Mycroft nor Sherlock and Sally knew him. His expression had to betray him.

 

“Oh god, you didn’t know, did you?” She was shocked.

 

His jaw set. “Donovan - yes, there is a third sibling. She apparently is everything you always feared Sherlock to become. But HE actually stopped her from doing more harm and now she’s back in the mental institution she belongs in. Everything else is a family matter and if you ever want to work with me again peacefully you will drop this matter now.”

 

Donovan held his gaze for a moment before nodding. “Fair enough. Now I’m going to fetch myself a coffee, you want one?”

 

Greg had a more or less quiet workday after that. No new murders that demanded his attention but lots and lots of paperwork. Despite his best efforts his thoughts wandered back time and again to Mycroft and what he’d done. Mycroft and what he’d gone through. John hadn’t told him much but the little he’d heard suggested that Eurus was indeed a very frightening person. He was under the impression that John didn’t want to talk about her and what had happened. And John was used to deal directly with terrible life-threatening situations. So a big part of him worried about Mycroft and what he might be going through.

 

But every time Greg’s thoughts returned towards the third Holmes sibling he felt a renewed wave of anger washing over him. Right now he didn’t feel all that charitable towards his husband which meant even if he decided to try and be there for him, he wouldn’t be any good at it anyway.

 

Time.

 

That’s what John had said - lots and lots of time...

 

***

 

After another long day at work Mycroft came home to a cold, empty house.

 

This used to be his home.

 

He never had minded having the enormous space all to himself.

 

Now every moment he spent here reminded him of the man who wasn’t here.

 

Instead of preparing himself some dinner, Mycroft went into the projection room and took a look at the film reels. He had taken care of the greatest mess in the night when Sherlock and John had come here and played their little game. But now he spent an hour taking each and every reel out of its place at the wall, checking on it and gently cleaning the tin before putting it back in the right place.

 

It proved to be an unnecessary task in the end. Everything but the obviously damaged reel from that night was OK. But it was at least something he could do to feel not absolutely disconnected from everyone. These films were Gregory’s babies.

 

Thinking about possibilities, Mycroft decided that all of them would go to Gregory in the case of a divorce. Keeping them would be too painful anyway.

 

He used to tell Sherlock that he wasn’t lonely.

 

Back then it had been the truth.

 

But Gregory had changed him, first by becoming his friend, then his lover, and in the end his husband, breaking up the protective shell he had hidden behind most of his life. There weren’t many people Mycroft was close to. The British Government didn’t DO friends. Duty and family had always been enough for him.

 

He didn’t go to people for help. Others came to him.

 

And his emotions certainly weren’t something he didn’t have under control.

 

There weren’t many people who had ever seen Mycroft Holmes cry. None besides Gregory since he considered himself an adult. He felt like crying now. And his husband was the reason.

 

The weirdest thing about this was his subconscious reaction. He wanted to talk to Gregory, take comfort from his love. A rather useless and absurd wish.

 

He wondered what others might do in this situation. This certainly wasn’t something to be discussed with a work acquaintance no matter how good the relationship. After the episode in his office he knew that his parents wouldn’t even answer the phone right now, not to mention having any kind of sympathy for him.

 

Mycroft even agreed with their judgement to a certain degree. But that didn’t mean that right now he didn’t crave for any kind of emotional contact.

 

Sentiment was a defect found in the losing side.

 

And in this case that meant Mycroft.

 

He thought about calling the one person who might answer his phone under the circumstances but this whole debacle had done more than enough to his brother. And he wouldn’t put Sherlock in a position where he stood between their parents and him in a conflict.

 

Mycroft sighed and went to his far too big, empty bed waiting for him.

 

***

 

_“Mycroft? Oh come on - stop hiding. You know I will find you…” Five year old Eurus in her adorable pigtails skipped down the hallway of his house calling him out in a little girl singsong voice._

 

_Mycroft was keeping as still as he could in the pantry although he knew she would inevitably find him. She always did._

 

_“Mummy and Daddy and Sherlock will help me find you - all I have to do is aaaask.”_

 

_He was in the pantry in the kitchen, the door was not completely closed and he could see her through the gap, could see her peeking into the armour in the training room, could see her juggling with the film reels until blood was flowing from the tins._

 

_Mummy was checking the wardrobe in the bedroom looking under each folded towel if he was hiding there._

 

_Sherlock was standing in the kitchen looking directly at the gap and into his brother’s eye._

 

_Mycroft knew he could see him and he would call out any moment now._

 

_Then Eurus called out with joyful glee. “Look what I found.”_

 

_Sherlock and Mummy and Father surrounded her and Sherlock was an adult, while Mummy was looking exactly as she had done that day when she caught Mycroft lighting a fire in the garden by accident and Father was as young as he’d been on the day the brought the baby home from the hospital._

 

_“It’s his friend.” Sherlock explained dispassionately. It was a fact. Like all facts it was clear and he stated it without thought of consequence. “I had a friend once.”_

 

_“Yes, you had and I didn’t like him because he wasn’t my friend.” Eurus the adult woman smirked. “Maybe this one will be.” And she leaned in and kissed Gregory, pulling him close, claiming him as hers._

  
Mycroft woke rather violently. He didn’t quite make it to the bathroom before he was violently sick, coming up with nothing but stomach acid and bile.


	6. Day Four

The next day at work wasn’t easy for Greg but at least it was a tiny bit easier than the day before. Paperwork and a court hearing kept him busy and the end of his work day came faster than he would have thought and frankly faster than he would have liked. With the end of work related distractions his thoughts had the opportunity to wander again and circled round and round in his head. An ever repeating cycle of anger and doubt - Where the last years anything but a sham? How could Mycroft lie to him like that? Was the oldest Holmes sibling even capable of genuine emotion?

 

When he got a call on his mobile, Greg’s guts were churning when he thought this might be Mycroft. He really didn’t feel ready to talk to him yet.

 

He was lucky though and it was just his sister.

 

“Hey Sue.”

 

“Greg, I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

 

“Not at all. Is everything alright?”

 

“Of course, Silly. Why wouldn’t it be?”

 

And that Greg knew summed up his sister perfectly. Her life was simple, uncomplicated, and more or less uneventful. Even her teenaged children didn’t manage to produce any kind of drama that would unsettle her.

 

“I’m just calling to invite you to Bill’s birthday next month. It’s going to be a quiet affair, just his brother and wife, us, and you two.”

 

Greg’s knuckles turned white around his phone. “Sue, I’m not… sure if Mycroft will be there.”

 

“Oh, I know that he can be a bit shy but…” There was a short pause. “That’s not what you’re talking about, is it?”

 

“No, it’s not.”

 

“Are you OK?” Her voice was warm and compassionate.

 

He could deny the obvious of course and Sue would accept his decision. But he wasn’t going to start lying like that. Lies were the whole fucking problem.

 

“I’m really not.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“Sorry - I really don’t think I want to talk about this right now. Let’s just say I haven’t been this angry at anyone in a while.”

 

“Oh Greg. If there is anything I can do to help, just let me know, OK?”

 

“I will. I’m staying with John at the moment, so don’t try to reach me at home. And Sue? Thanks for the offer.”

 

She sighed. “Just look after yourself, will you?”

 

“Goodbye, Sue.”

 

“Goodbye.”

***

 

Mycroft once again got up early. Without Gregory there and his dreams haunting him, sleep really wasn’t all that restorative. He got under the shower and stayed under the scalding-hot spray until it turned ice-cold.

 

Watching his face in the mirror while shaving was almost painful. His cheeks seemed hollow and he had dark circles under his eyes. Mycroft bit the inside of his lip. He would have to do way better than this if he wanted to stay in control, if he wanted to keep his position and access to power.

 

Not that he cared too much for personal power but it was absolutely necessary to get Sherlock into Sherrinford. And after everything he’d done he owed this to his family - despite the fact that he personally thought this was not a good idea.

 

After everything that had happened he wasn’t sure if he was the right person to judge what was or wasn’t a good idea anyway.

 

And his position - well, despite the recent events his record was still in the net positive; he did GOOD in his position. Losing that was a terrifying prospect.

 

After cleaning up as best as possible he went into the kitchen and made himself a coffee. He stared at the bread, trying to fight his body’s needs knowing that he would have to give in at least temporarily, hating himself for the weakness. Trying to put off the inevitable, Mycroft remembered a few packages shoved into the farthest corner of the kitchen cabinets. Even after all this time the powders and pills should still be good. And the protein and vitamins within the dietary supplements should help keep him healthy without any superfluous calories. Mycroft had always had his own little ways and compromises to keep the upper hand in this fight.

 

This was at least something he could control.

 

When he opened the cabinet and pulled out the carton containing the supplements he was surprised to find a folded piece of paper in there.

 

The note had been in there for a while although he couldn’t be sure for how long exactly. In the back of the cabinet there wasn’t too much dust accumulation and no bleaching of the ink by sunlight. He carefully opened it and wasn’t too surprised to find his husband’s handwriting.

 

_“Hey,_

 

_I hope you’ll find this just because you’re clearing out the cabinet for some reason but I’m afraid that’s not the case._

 

_I have just one question: Is it really that bad?_

 

_Whatever it is, remember I love you and you fully deserve that love. So PLEASE stop rummaging in the cabinet behind my back and come talk to me, My._

 

_Let me help you.”_

 

Mycroft stared at the note until the writing started to swim from the tears in his eyes. He folded the paper and put it in his wallet before leaving to work, ignoring the supplements as well as bread and coffee for now.


	7. Day Five

After another rather uneventful day at the office Greg decided to visit Mrs. Hudson himself. He should have done so earlier but with the whole clusterfuck with Mycroft he hadn’t had the mind to do so.

 

Her room at the hospital was a nice private one and there were more flowers in here than at the average funeral. Greg was just glad that he decided on some biscuits.

 

“Hello.”

 

She greeted him with a huge smile. “Oh do come in - it gets so boring in here.”

 

“I’m surprised they could keep you this long, to be honest.” He sat down on the visitor’s chair handing her the box of biscuits.

 

“Oh thanks. I’m afraid I can’t offer you a nice cuppa right now.” She winked at him. “Those doctors say I fractured my hip and want to keep me here for long enough to make sure I won’t need surgery. I think they just want to milk your husband for the extra special treatment.”

 

Seeing Lestrade’s expression darken, she immediately patted his hand. “He is a right arse, isn’t he?”

 

“I really didn’t come here to talk about him, Mrs. Hudson. I wanted to make sure you had everything you need including some company. John is busy with Rosie, Sherlock is not the most reliable person at the best of times…”

 

“And all my other friends are one foot in the grave already.”

 

“I didn’t say that.”

 

“Of course you didn’t, Greg. You’re far too well-mannered for that. That doesn’t make it less true. Now I’m doing fine except for being a bit bored, so why don’t you tell me about what happens in the real world.”

 

And so he did: talking about his work, a bit of day-to-day politics, and of course what he and John had been up to over the last couple of days, talking mostly about Rosie. A little child always was a safe topic to talk about and they spent at least half an hour with Greg retelling her latest adventures, including sharing a few pictures on his phone.

 

“John told me you’re staying with him for the time being.”

 

Greg closed his eyes with sigh. “Yes.”

 

“Look I know that for some reason you love him and for a long time I thought he probably wasn’t that much worse than Sherlock, but…”

 

“But?” Greg really didn’t feel like talking about Mycroft right now but he also was pretty sure that his choices were limited. Once Mrs. Hudson had made up her mind about something there was little one could do to stop her.

 

“I like you and I feel I should say something. Friends should be honest with each other.”

 

Greg nodded, he really didn’t believe in sugarcoating things either.

 

“Your husband is a bastard. I’m willing to ignore the fact that my home got blown up by a psychopath - that could have happened any day because of Sherlock. But lying to everyone like that… I always thought he cared about his family at least - if nothing else. Apparently I was wrong. His cold calculating mind doesn’t care about anyone like a normal human being. I just pity their poor parents to find out about Eurus like this. I know this is hard for you to hear but you might be better off without him.”

 

Greg swallowed. That had been more brutally honest than he would have expected. “You think I should dump him?”

 

“Before he hurts you even more.” Her face grew soft. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this but I was stuck with Frank for years and could only free myself when Sherlock ensured that he couldn’t escape the death penalty. Those years weren’t pretty, and I don’t wish something like that on anyone, let alone a friend.”

 

Greg straightened. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I appreciate your honesty and your concern. But I don’t think I’ve quite reached the point where I’d just throw it all away. Unlike Frank and you, our relationship never was purely physical. I _love_ Mycroft as a person.”

 

“Only you never truly knew him, did you? He lied to you as well.”

 

He felt as if a cold hand grabbed his heart. Mrs. Hudson voiced his deepest fears with terrible conviction. But she never knew Mycroft at all. She only knew what Sherlock or Greg told her and very little else. “He did. That’s why I have to figure out how much else was a lie. But I’ll reserve my judgement until then.”

 

“Oh, Greg.” She shook her head. “I really hope you won’t end up hurt even more badly.”

 

***

 

For lunch Mycroft allowed himself a salad with some mushrooms and some bread. Thinking about the note in his wallet helped him to force the voice in his head back. He might not be the person Gregory had believed him to be. Gregory might now be too angry with him to care. But he could do this - had to do this - for the Gregory who wrote that note, the Gregory who had known him well enough to understand the significance of those packages. The Gregory who loved him so much.

 

It had been almost a week now and no one had called him yet to inform him that his help wasn’t appreciated anymore. While this wasn’t necessarily a good sign it certainly wasn’t a bad one either.

 

In the early afternoon Mycroft discovered a nice bit of information he’d been looking for a while. With this last piece a puzzle came together and provided the answer to one of “Turk’s” problems. He wrote a short email, providing his peer in Edinburgh with a summary of his conclusions. This wouldn’t help him in the short term of course but was an important step in balancing his accounts of favours again.

 

Mycroft didn’t believe in luck. But that little success did put him in a good mood or at least a more positive one than he’d had in days.

 

He still wasn’t sure if he should call Gregory or not.

 

His husband had made it pretty clear that he had no interest in talking to him right now. Gregory had declared that he needed some distance. So calling him should be a terrible idea by all accounts.

 

On the other hand if he didn’t call, their distance would only grow. Without communication they would never work through this. And he needed them to make it. He needed Gregory in a way he wouldn’t have thought possible.

 

In the end - despite the fact that he knew it to be self-centered and weak - Mycroft did send a text.

 

“I found your note - MH”

 

***

 

When Greg received a text from Mycroft, he very nearly ignored it. Just seeing the name on his mobile caused a renewed wave of anger.

 

Reading it he furrowed his brow. He had left the note on the stereo three days ago. Apparently Mycroft hadn’t been home all that time. Greg wondered where he might have spent the last few nights but fought down the worry accompanying the question. Mycroft had a perfectly functioning couch in his office as well as access to the Diogenes Club’s facilities.

 

And if Mycroft wanted to point out the childishness of his actions - well fuck him.

 

He decided that the text really warranted no response.

 

***

 

When Greg woke around 3AM he suddenly realised which note Mycroft had really been referring to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK one of them actually takes step to rectify the mess - finally.
> 
> Also sorry but Mrs. Hudson LIKES Greg and isn't too fond of Mycroft Holmes. I hate having her be the 'bad' guy but she would see it like this I'm afraid.


	8. Day Six

_Mycroft was walking through a labyrinth. He wasn’t lost. He could see each and every path and where they would eventually lead clearly. He knew the map of this place by heart. And at every intersection he chose the inevitable path that would eventually lead to his doom knowing that each of the other possibilities would lead to more harm in the end._

 

_There was a kind of peace that came from knowingly walking into the darkness with the certainty never to reach light again._

 

_Each labyrinth had a monster waiting at its centre and Mycroft knew exactly who that monster was going to be._

 

_Theseus had had a string, a small fragile thread, connecting him to the outside world, connecting him to Ariadne. The farther he walked the fewer of his own attachments remained though. With each turn, with each choice another lifeline was cut until in the end none would remain._

 

_Eurus wouldn’t win because she beat him. Eurus would win because in the end he would turn into her._

 

_Despite knowing this Mycroft kept walking towards the labyrinth’s centre, walking towards his sister and his doom waiting for him._

 

Mycroft woke from another night of restless sleep. He wondered briefly if it wouldn’t be easier just to stay in bed. But that wasn’t who he was. He had more discipline like that. No matter what happened, as long as he still had a position he would do his job.

 

After starting the coffee maker, Mycroft checked his phone for any messages he might have missed. It was a redundant ritual; he wouldn’t have missed an alert during the few moments in the bathroom. But it helped to take his mind off of the necessity of breakfast for a few more moments.

 

“I’m off work at five today and will be coming home right after. ONLY a visit. We’ll talk then.”

 

Mycroft stared at his phone in disbelief. When Gregory hadn’t reacted yesterday he had lost hope that they would still somehow make it.

 

Something like a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He began to make himself two sandwiches and hardly felt bad about it.

 

***

 

Mycroft made sure that he was home by five. He knew of course that Gregory would take about forty minutes until he was home with the current traffic but he couldn’t help himself.

 

He spent the waiting time cleaning and tidying and generally fussing over nothing, which was ridiculous of course. Most of the mess in the house was made by Gregory. This was his home too. Mycroft stopped himself. Cleaning up Gregory’s messes might be taken as his attempt to erase any reminders of him. He highly doubted that his husband would take it that way but still.

 

Mycroft took a deep breath and stopped himself from behaving like a complete fool. The house was more than reasonably presentable; Gregory had seen it in far worse states and had been the reason behind those states. He himself was immaculately dressed and once again the same reasoning held true: Gregory had seen him far more disheveled and had been the reason behind it.

 

It was almost six when Mycroft heard the key turning in the lock.

 

When Greg opened the door he immediately spotted Mycroft standing in the door to the living room.

 

He was shocked to see how pale he looked and at the noticeable shadows under his eyes. He felt a pang of sorrow fighting with his anger.

 

“Hello.” Mycroft’s voice was carefully neutral.

 

“Oh, My.” He took the few steps separating them and pulled his husband into a hug.

 

They stood there for a few moments, before Greg gently ended the close embrace. “Let’s go and sit down.”

 

Mycroft swallowed once and then nodded.

 

Greg followed him into the living room and sat down in ‘his’ armchair, carefully establishing a certain distance between them.

 

“You’re looking like shit.”

 

“I was under the impression that I kept up appearances rather well regarding the circumstances but I appreciate your honesty.” Mycroft sat down on the far side of the couch. He looked down. “I thought you had decided not to answer.”

 

Greg leaned back in his chair. “It took me a couple of hours until I realised what note you were referring to. Don’t forget I’m an idiot - and you better not deny it; it’s your best chance at the moment.” He sighed. “How are you doing?”

 

“Not any worse than I deserve.”

 

“That’s not what I’m asking, Mycroft.” Greg had little patience at the moment.

 

“After reading your note, getting your text… today was not all that bad.”

 

“Mycroft - no matter how angry I am with you - I stand by that note. If you are in that bad a place, I will do my best to help.”

 

“You’re here.” There was a certain amount of disbelief at that fact in his voice.

 

“Yes, I am. And I want to help.”

 

“I need you to forgive me.” In a way it were the hardest six words Mycroft ever had to utter.

 

Greg studied his husband. Remembering Mrs. Hudson’s harsh judgement, his own unpleasant thoughts those didn’t seem compatible with the broken man he now saw before him. This man was the man he thought he’d known for the last few years. And yet it was the same man who had lied to him all this time. He needed to understand how the hell that was possible if he ever wanted to be able to forgive his husband. “Tell me about Eurus.”

 

Mycroft looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights. “I… I don’t think… Do you really think it still matters?”

 

Greg took a deep breath to keep himself from lashing out. “Considering the fact that I’m still bloody pissed at you for never telling me about her - yes, I think it matters very much. Telling me about her is at least a step in the right direction.”

 

Mycroft lowered his gaze. He didn’t want to ever think about his sister, let alone talk about her. But if this was what Gregory asked of him, what was needed for his atonement, then he would do what was necessary.

 

“Eurus was five when I first caught her trying to kill Sherlock. I came just in time. She’d pulled a plastic bag over his head as an ‘experiment’. He had already lost consciousness. Our parents thought it was a game gone too far. She was just five years old after all and couldn’t comprehend the consequences.

 

You think the same thing. I can see it in your face.

 

But it wasn’t.

 

Eurus outshone Sherlock and even me in pure cold intellect. She knew exactly what she was doing. She had decided it would be interesting to see how it felt to kill somebody. And she didn’t care if that someone was her own brother.

 

Sherlock didn’t understand. He spent days going with her over the things he saw and felt when he nearly suffocated. He didn’t see the danger, he only saw the data gathered in an experiment: ‘brain without oxygen’.

 

Eurus was almost as happy with those results. She knew I was onto her and didn’t try anything directly for a while afterwards.”

 

Greg was speechless. He couldn’t imagine any five year old - even a Holmes - being that detached.

 

“It was another two years before she eventually found her first victim.”

 

“You are dead serious about this, aren’t you?”

 

“You know that I usually refrain from Sherlock’s dramatics but Eurus was pure and unadulterated evil - even back then. I was thirteen and the only person who saw her for what she was.” His gaze was unfocused as he continued. “Fat, useless Mycroft - it’s probably the jealousy. The only thing he has going for him is his brains and he knows he’s nothing compared to her.”

 

Greg got up from his chair and went over to the couch, sitting down next to his husband. “You are NOT useless, you’re certainly not fat, and you have a lot more going for you besides your brain. Whoever gave you that feeling was an idiot. And you are one for believing it.” Seeing the shudder going through Mycroft, he continued. “Look at yourself, My.” At the sound of the familiar pet name, Mycroft’s head turned to look at him. “You are clever enough to KNOW that I’m right. Now I’m still pissed and we’re not even close to being back to normal but I won’t leave until I’ve seen you eat something like a normal dinner. And I won’t leave either until you say you’ll be OK for the night.”

 

“What about John?”

 

“I’ve got keys, he knew I was meeting with you tonight. It’s not as if he’s my worrywart mother. Now - kitchen.”


	9. Day Seven

For once Mycroft woke up well rested. Of course he was still alone in his bed and in the house. But Gregory had stayed as long as necessary like he’d promised.

 

A small smile played around his lips thinking about Gregory. Even if they wouldn’t work their way through this, despite what he’d done, his husband still had come when he called. He had no idea how or why he deserved loyalty on this level but with the overwhelming evidence he was prone to believe that he actually had it.

 

And tonight they would meet after work for some tea and to talk.

 

Mycroft knew that wouldn’t be easy. But he also knew that he owed Gregory just about everything that he asked for.

 

Unlike his parents, unlike Sherlock, Gregory actually gave him a chance to make things right again, actually still talked to him. He hadn’t even heard a word from his family since their visit to his office.

 

Well, under normal circumstances Mycroft tried to handle all problems as they presented themselves but right now he felt that tackling one issue after the other might be the wiser choice - or at least limiting himself to a smaller number. So for the moment he would try to focus on weathering the storm in his professional life and on his reconciliation with Gregory. The rest would have to wait.

 

***

 

“I don’t know when I’ll be home tonight - sorry if you counted on me as a babysitter.”

 

John looked at Greg curiously. “Are you meeting with Mycroft again?”

 

“Yes.”

 

His friend raised an eyebrow as he rocked Rosie on his arm. “Didn’t you say you needed time and distance?”

 

“I do - which is why I’m eternally grateful you let me stay. But Mycroft is in a bad place and I can’t just abandon him.” He sighed. “Also we need to start somewhere if we ever want to work this out.”

 

John smiled at him. “You don’t have to justify yourself - especially not to me. I’ve been there and whatever you decide - I’ll be backing you. I was just curious.”

 

“I can’t quite believe it myself, I’m still unsure whether I’m the right person to help him right now. But it’s not as if he has a therapist or friends he could turn to.”

 

“I wouldn’t imagine he did. Always the Iceman after all.”

 

Greg’s face grew more annoyed than somber. “That’s complete shit and you should know that.”

 

“Maybe - I’m not that sure about Mycroft. But you obviously are, telling me off like that.” He looked vaguely smug and amused.

 

Greg’s eyes narrowed. “Damn you, John. You spent far too much time around Sherlock.”

 

The doctor just shrugged. “I certainly won’t deny that. Now get to work - and good luck tonight.”

 

***

 

They met in a small bistro Greg knew from work - a place they Mycroft would never be caught dead as long as it was work-related and a place they had never visited together before to avoid any baggage.

 

Mycroft arrived mere moments after Greg had sat down, so he was sure his husband had waited somewhere where he could observe the entrance to the place to avoid coming in first.

 

Greg was relieved to see that Mycroft while nervous didn’t look quite as bad as he’d done yesterday.

 

“I’m glad you came.”

 

“Have you ever known me ‘not’ to keep a promise, Mycroft?”

 

His husband lowered his gaze faced with the reprimand. “No. It’s just… some emergency might have kept you…”

 

“In which case I would have called or texted.” Greg sighed as he recognised the annoyance in his own voice. He was glad that the waiter came over just at that moment.

 

When Mycroft ordered nothing but an Assam, Greg made a point of ordering a few sandwiches and a salad with his tea.

 

What killed Greg was the way they both felt awkward around each other. It hadn’t been that way in a long time between them. And he liked it even less than his anger. He leaned back folding his arms. Well, they could put the time while they were waiting for their order to good use at least.

 

“Tell me more about Eurus.”

 

For a moment Mycroft seemed as if he wanted to protest, plead with Greg to spare him, but he simply sighed and started speaking in a low voice instead.

 

“I remember when Mummy first told me she was pregnant again. I was thrilled to see her that happy. I loved my baby brother fiercely and I was full expecting to love the new baby and protect her the same way as I did Sherlock. It became clear early on though that Eurus was nothing like Sherlock and that she surpassed even me. She could read before most toddlers formed two word ‘sentences’.

 

I didn’t mind. I wanted to teach her and look after her nonetheless.

 

Unlike Sherlock though she never cared for my approval or guidance. I remember when she was three and I explained an observation - a deduction - to both of them. Sherlock struggled to follow my reasoning. He wanted to understand how I had come to that conclusion but despite my best attempts to explain it, it still stayed just beyond his grasp. Eurus just looked at me in fascination until she finally stated ‘but that’s obvious’ unable to see why I even felt the need to explain it.

 

That was the day I admitted to myself that I was useless to her. It was a heavy blow for my eleven year old ego.” Mycroft actually produced a small self-deprecating smile at the memory. “She still cared a great deal about Sherlock though. He was close enough in age if not in intellect I guess. She taught him to play the violin when she was four.”

 

“She played the violin at that age?”

 

“There were certain motoric restrictions but yes. Our parents thought letting her learn an instrument - something that couldn’t be mastered through sheer intellect and required practice - would help her learn patience and calm her ever racing mind down. In a way it helped, she did become more focused. And it helped her bond with Sherlock.

 

I once tried to join in on their lessons. She sent me away because I was useless and clumsy and would never, ever learn something beautiful. She refused to work with Sherlock as long as I was in listening distance.”

 

“Mycroft…” The hurt still evident in his voice was painful to hear

 

He shook his head. “She was right in her assessment of course, I have no talent for music or any kind of art whatsoever. I lack the kind of creativity that both my siblings possess. Whether I like it or not, those are the facts. And I pride myself in my ability to face the facts and deal with them, a talent maybe even rarer than creativity and oftentimes more useful.

 

And the distance Eurus established between herself and me helped me to see her for what she was instead of what I wanted her to be like Sherlock or my parents.”

 

When the waiter brought the tea and the food, Gregory shoved both plates in front of Mycroft.

 

“You ordered this.”

 

“And you’ll eat it - you know fully well I hate salad.” Seeing Mycroft’s doubtful expression he added. “Besides eating will earn you a respite from talking.”

 

Greg wasn’t sure if it was comforting that those words indeed did the trick. He knew his husband too well it seemed.

 

Mycroft managed all the salad and one of the sandwiches before he obviously gave up. He just stared at his plate unable to force down another bite.

 

Greg sighed. It wasn’t exactly what he would call an excessive meal but at least it qualified as dinner. He pulled the plate with the remaining sandwiches over. It would do as a snack until he’d grab himself something real to eat later. “Now - Eurus.”

 

Mycroft should have known better than to expect his husband would take pity on him. He took a deep breath.

 

“Eurus was… Eurus IS not a normal human being. I don’t doubt that she has some sort of emotion but I never found her capable of connecting to another human being in a meaningful way. Her default mindset is that of detached scientific curiosity.

 

She views everyone as guinea pigs to experiment on. And that includes herself to a certain extent - at least her physical body. She repeatedly hurt others and herself just to see what would happen or how certain things worked.

 

I don’t think she ever intended harm.

 

But I don’t think she cared if she caused any either.

 

At a certain point I had to realise that even her connection to Sherlock was that of a scientist towards a clever pet. I think she wanted to see how well she could train him. I think that’s why she rejected me, she feared that I was too clever and would see through her manipulation.

 

This may sound like hubris or the desperate attempt to give the rejection some positive twist but I’m sure that she wouldn’t have reacted like she did when she first learned of my new insight if I was mistaken.”

 

“What did she do?”

 

“Well, she was five. It was shortly after she nearly killed Sherlock. And then she started to show an interest in Mummy and Father she had never shown before. She started experimenting on them. It took me a bit until I saw what she was doing and I tried to warn them. But of course they wouldn’t listen. Eurus was their darling baby after all.

 

She took them apart and put them back together again - not with a knife but with words. She already knew how to see through people, to spot their deepest shames and secrets, wishes and desires. And now she learned to use them.

 

Before she was six Mummy and Father were basically her puppets. The differences were subtle; they had loved and adored her before after all. They had loved and adored us all.

 

But the balance shifted.

 

Whenever Eurus wanted something she got it. There were no boundaries for her anymore. She played all these games with Sherlock, sometimes making him laugh, sometimes making him scream. It was as if she wasn’t able to tell the difference or at least she didn’t care.

 

When it got too bad I usually managed to drag Mummy and Father in to interfere. But they only stopped her because she allowed them to do so.

 

She told me once, she didn’t want to hurt Sherlock and break him permanently so she allowed our parents to be the indicator of whether she might be about to go too far.

 

At that point everyone at Musgrave basically was under her control: Mummy, Father, Sherlock, the nanny, the gardener… I did my best to stand against her but it was of no use. The only one even remotely willing to listen was Uncle Rudy; everyone else just saw a jealous fourteen year old acting up. But when he visited to take a look himself, she got to him too.

 

When Mummy and Uncle Rudy - the only two adults I knew that I would have considered even remotely intelligent - both fell under her spell so easily then I truly was on my own.

 

Sherlock of course was the most vulnerable and I tried to keep him away from her as best as I could. I encouraged him to find friends outside the family. When he met Victor one day I did everything in my power to persuade him to spend as much time as possible with his new friend.

 

I should have known better.

 

Eurus might not have many normal emotions but she certainly knew jealousy.

 

First she basically ordered Sherlock back. But his friendship with Victor was too strong already and he brought the boy along.

 

Victor was seven years old when she killed him.

 

We tried our best but she never gave away where she had left him to die.”

 

“It was an old unused well just outside of your family’s estate.” Greg remembered the decades old child’s skeleton they had pulled out of that hole.

 

“He was a frightened seven year old boy very probably taking days to die, terrified and alone all because he had dared to be friends with one of Eurus’ playthings. And because I encouraged that foolery. That boy’s death is on my head.”

 

“You were fifteen, Mycroft.”

 

“And more intelligent and knowledgeable than any adult that was running the country at that point.”

 

“You didn’t kill that boy. You did your best to save him. That you didn’t succeed doesn’t make you guilty.” Greg took his husband’s hand. “You’re not infallible, My.”

 

When their hands touched Mycroft looked up in surprise.

 

“It’s not your fault.”

 

Hearing the absolute conviction and seeing it in his husband’s eyes, Mycroft could almost believe him.

 

Suddenly Greg’s eyes narrowed as a thought hit him. “When she killed Victor, did she talk to you?”

 

“She mostly ignored all of us, our question and pleads. When Mummy took care of a hysterical Sherlock, well after Victor already had to be dead, she spoke to me though. She told me that I of all people should have known better.”

 

“Like she told you that you were useless, fat, and clumsy?”

 

“I never claimed my sister was a very nice person, Gregory, I…” Mycroft’s eyes widened as he saw what his husband was implying.

 

“You said your parents were basically her puppets, that she somehow gets to people. Did you ever consider that you might not be as immune as you thought?”

 

“She never controlled me.”

 

“Not completely - but I think you are not as unaffected by her games as you would like to believe.”

 

Mycroft contemplated the implications. Even if Gregory was mistaken it was certainly true that the events surrounding his sister had affected him more than he liked to admit. But in the end it didn’t matter. He was who he was. Eurus had had a great deal of impact on the creation of that person, more so than even his parents or Sherlock. The only consequence of Gregory’s suspicion was that he would have to be even more careful in his dealings with her. He nodded.

 

“I certainly am affected by Eurus. I would never deny that.”

 

Greg nodded. It was a start. “What happened after she killed Victor?”

 

“At first? Nothing. Her hold on Sherlock at least seemed to be broken and Mummy and Father were fighting against it. But no one outside the family would believe that she had actually anything to do with his disappearance. She was just a child after all.

 

When Sherlock didn’t come back to her after she got Victor out of the picture she grew more and more unbalanced. She started drawing pictures and in each and every one of those Sherlock died some horrific death.

 

She had to burn the ancestral home down though, nearly killing us all in our sleep - including herself before I finally managed to convince our parents and Uncle Rudy that she needed to be in some institution. I’m still eternally grateful that he listened to my concerns that time and had her put away securely.

 

Once she was gone… well, it took time for us to deal with it.

 

Sherlock completely deleted her from his memories - putting away the traumatic memories. He simply refused to acknowledge the fact that he ever had a little sister. He made up stories in his mind about Redbeard the dog. He wasn’t able to face his memories of his best friend who died but he wasn’t willing to completely delete Victor’s existence either. During that first few months we all tried to help him. Mummy tried sending him to three different therapists before finally giving up. Father was just there reading him pirate stories like he’d always done, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Me, I tried helping him the only way I could imagine, teaching him to not let his emotions rule him and of course monitoring his mental health once he put all that trauma away behind fake memories.

 

Other than taking care of Sherlock our parents more or less functioned on auto-pilot. With Eurus gone they were suddenly lacking a guiding force. She had trained and perfected her influence on them for over a year. It wasn’t as if she had dictated each and every one of their decisions but she’d influenced them more thoroughly than anyone else afterwards, I think. They were her first victims and her favourite guinea pigs - her only adults to play with regularly.

 

We stopped talking about her to protect Sherlock and in a way that helped them to slowly recover as well.

 

Uncle Rudy made a point of visiting regularly over the next couple of months and I think he was in shock to see how different his brother and sister-in-law acted. He took me for a couple of walks, telling my parents I could use the exercise, and we talked. I was the only one with whom he could really talk about Eurus.

 

That’s when he made the decision to introduce me to his bosses as soon as I would be old enough. He didn’t tell me but I could tell anyway. He was shrewd man but he still underestimated me even then.

 

It was almost a year before Mummy mentioned that she wanted to visit Eurus. My sister’s influence had mostly worn off by that time and Sherlock was at least stable. Coming back to her former self Mummy regained a sense of duty and a bad conscience for ever letting something like this happen. So she decided that it was her duty to visit her troubled daughter.

 

I nearly had a heart attack at the thought. But Uncle Rudy when he next visited, gently broke it to my parents that Eurus had somehow managed to get the means to start another fire and had died in the resulting inferno before they ever mentioned the idea to him.

 

I knew he was lying but I certainly wouldn’t be the one to tell my parents.

 

It was the best closure they could ever hope for.

 

Officially I learned the truth a couple of years later when I had proven myself in her majesty’s service enough to grant me the appropriate clearance level.

 

I accompanied Uncle Rudy to Sherrinford a few times but I was twenty seven before I found the courage to actually face her again myself.”

 

Greg at this point wasn’t surprised to hear the absolute horror in his husband’s voice. “What happened?”

 

“She greeted me with a smile. Told me that she had expected me two days earlier so apparently I was either a bigger coward than she thought or something unforeseen had happened in my job. In fact it had been Sherlock overdosing but I didn’t tell her that. She had long ago lost any right to learn anything about our family.

 

As long as Rudy still lived I wasn’t her official keeper. I still kept an eye on her and made suggestions and mostly I was listened to. But the responsibility, the last call, was Rudy’s.

 

After his death I tried to keep a greater distance not really trusting myself. But I couldn’t trust others either. And she still was my sister. Having her in isolation might be necessary - especially after the incident with the nurse - but over the last couple of years I tried not to let my fear rule me. Eurus was an incomparable intellect and if she could be coerced into helping us out it was more than worth a little discomfort on my side.

 

The bribes started out harmless enough and only were there to make her isolation and incarceration more bearable. Despite everything I didn’t enjoy seeing my sister tortured by boredom.

 

I took calculated risks and even as they grew greater I still thought I was in control. I should have taken the wardens’ fallibility into account. I should have visited more often…”

 

Gregory who hadn’t let go off his hand now gently squeezed it. “You should have talked to someone.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“I know.” And suddenly Greg realised that his anger had all but evaporated - at least for now. Hearing the emotion in Mycroft’s voice when he talked about his sister, he realised what kind of hold she still had over him. “I wasn’t even necessarily thinking about myself. You said your mother tried sending Sherlock to three different therapists, did you ever go to one?”

 

“Victor wasn’t my friend. And I’m hardly known for my sensitivity.”

 

At that point Greg hated Violet Holmes just the tiniest bit. “That’s because people are idiots.”

 

This actually managed to coax out a smile from Mycroft. Greg made a decision. He pulled out his phone and began to type.

 

“Who are you texting?” Mycroft carefully kept his eyes focussed on Gregory’s face lest he accidentally read the message.

 

“John. It’s only good manners letting him know I won’t be back tonight.”

 

“You won’t?” Mycroft could hardly believe his own ears.

 

Greg put some notes on the table to cover their bill. “I’m getting you home, My.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

The vulnerability shown almost broke Greg’s heart. He managed a lopsided grin. “You’re not completely out of the doghouse. I’ll probably hold this over your head in every argument we’ll have over the next decade or so, but yes I’m sure. We’re going home now and we’ll work out the rest as we go along.”


	10. The following weeks

Greg woke in the middle of the night when Mycroft began tossing around in his sleep. Even in the darkness of the bedroom he could make out the distorted features of his husband. Greg gently moved his arms around the sleeping figure and pulled him close, tightening the embrace when Mycroft didn’t fight it. He could feel the other man shivering in his sleep and he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the lack of warmth.

 

After a few moments held tight in Greg’s arms, Mycroft began to relax and settle back into a more restful sleep. It took Greg about half an hour before he himself fell asleep again, his arms still holding Mycroft close.

***

 

Feeling his husband’s eyes on him, Mycroft carefully prepared himself some toast for breakfast. When he sat down to eat he saw Greg’s raised eyebrows at his very precise eating ritual.

 

“That bad?”

 

Mycroft bit his lip. His instincts told him to claim he was fine. The part of his brain that he usually considered to be in control insisted that lying wasn’t a good idea considering the circumstances. He swallowed once. “The events at Sherrinford have been… unsettling. I will be alright given enough time.”

 

Greg furrowed his brow. Sherlock and John had talked about games Eurus had played with Sherlock but neither had gone into too many details. They had left the impression that Mycroft had been more or less unaffected. And at that point he’d been too shocked and angry to question their version. Maybe that had been a mistake.

 

Seeing the still rather pale man before him, he corrected himself - that had definitely been a mistake.

 

“My…”

 

“I really don’t want to talk about it, Gregory. Not now. I need to go to work.” Mycroft Holmes very deliberately put the last bit of toast into his mouth and stood up from the breakfast table.

 

Greg sighed. He had told Mycroft that he needed time, so it was hardly his place to put pressure on him now. His husband had told him enough about Eurus for now to have earned himself back some trust. He got up and put a chaste kiss on Mycroft’s cheek.

 

“Just look after yourself.”

***

 

Greg went about his day, still trying to regain his own balance. In his lunch hour he phoned Anthea. The woman took a surprisingly long amount of time to answer.

 

“Inspector?”

 

“Hey. I hope I’m not interrupting. I just wanted to exchange some info. I’m rather worried about Mycroft’s eating over the last couple of days.”

 

“I’m afraid I can’t provide you with any information regarding that. I’m currently still with people you would only know by meaningless code names anyway. I haven’t spoken with Mr. Holmes for the last week as it was deemed inappropriate while I assisted with the investigation. I will probably return to my regular work the day after tomorrow.”

 

Greg took in a sharp breath. “Investigation?”

 

“The Sherrinford situation fell under Mr. Holmes’ jurisdiction. He surely must have mentioned it.”

 

He fell a stab of shame. “No, he hasn’t - we haven’t talked all that much since the incident.”

 

There was a short pause. “I see - understandable considering the circumstances, I guess. Good luck, Inspector.”

***

 

“You never told me there was an investigation.” Greg’s voice held no trace of criticism, just concern.

 

“It was unavoidable considering my personal involvement. I’m still unsure when or whether my position will be back to normal.” Mycroft very deliberately kept his tone neutral.

 

“Well Anthea claimed she’d be back with you in two days so I guess that’s good?”

 

He could literally see a part of the tension leaving his husband’s frame. Now he only stood perfectly upright. “It’s an especially good sign that she felt confident enough to already tell you. So I guess my peers didn’t find my decisions indefensible.”

***

 

They worked on it every day. Mycroft woke up plagued by nightmares every other night despite Greg’s best efforts to calm him down. But the days slowly got better. At least with Gregory there and Anthea back at his side at work he ate regularly and didn’t exhaust himself otherwise.

 

Greg held himself back other than making sure Mycroft got enough food and rest. He mostly felt guilty that he hadn’t been there to stop this downward spiral right at the start. But then his anger flared up again, telling him that Mycroft had made the choice not to trust him, to lie to him. He didn’t want to see his husband suffer but he wouldn’t - couldn’t take the responsibility all on his shoulders. Even considering what had happened during their childhood, Mycroft was an adult and held responsibility for his actions and decisions.

 

And to a certain degree Greg knew that his husband would agree. An explanation wasn’t an excuse - not fully.

 

Mycroft held himself to the same - or rather higher - standards than everyone else after all.

***

 

They sat in the living room listening to one of Mycroft’s vinyl recordings of a Beethoven concerto. Usually Mycroft preferred Bach’s clarity when his mind was in uproar but Eurus had tainted that for the time being. He wouldn’t be able to listen to him without being reminded of her for a while. Bach had always been a favourite of hers as well.

 

Gregory noticed his unusual choice and although he couldn’t comprehend the reasons behind it he could probably take an educated guess. Greg had always had a good intuition when it came to Mycroft.

 

“Have you talked to Sherlock since Sherrinford?” It seemed easier to talk about the aftermath than asking after the incident itself.

 

“Once. He came to my office - the real one not the representative one. He brought our parents over for a talk.”

 

Despite this being more empathy towards Violet and Siger than he would have expected from Sherlock, Greg wasn’t shocked. “He told them then?”

 

“Indeed. They weren’t happy.”

 

“I can imagine.” Seeing Mycroft’s face he added. “What did you expect? You lied to them for decades.”

 

“I did. Mother didn’t take too kindly to that. She and Father insisted on meeting Eurus at the earliest possible moment.”

 

Remembering what Mycroft had told him about their childhood, Greg flinched. “You think that is safe?”

 

“It’s certainly not wise. I’m not sure whether it’ll be safe. But I doubt they would listen to my concerns. They made it very clear that they wouldn’t even consider talking to me until I made their request possible.”

 

“What?”

 

“You look shocked. Does it really surprise you? You refused to deal with me for some time after our first conversation.” There was no reproach in Mycroft’s voice - simply the pointing out of facts.

 

Greg nodded. “I didn’t try to blackmail though. I just… needed time to sort things through. Even if that might have been an overreaction.”

 

“I’m afraid that my Mother has already made up her mind. She does so very quickly. Sherlock has learned being resentful from someone.”

 

“And what did your brother say?”

 

“For once he was actually trying to put oil on troubled water. I think Eurus’ discovery has him greatly unsettled. He hasn’t talked to me since then and I naturally don’t know whether he talked to our parents.”

 

Greg clearly picked up Mycroft’s worry for his little brother. “Do you want to call him?”

 

“I don’t think Sherlock would appreciate that. I’ll have to trust John to look after him as once again I won’t be able to do so.”

 

Hearing the sadness in his husband’s voice Gregory inwardly cursed at John, Mrs. Hudson, and everyone who had fed his doubts about Mycroft’s true character. He just pulled the other man into an embrace.

***

 

When Mycroft once again woke up from a nightmare and fled into his husband’s arms to be held by him until the shivering subsided, Greg decided that enough was enough. He had shown restrained. He had tried just to be there without causing even more stress for Mycroft. But this was too much to be ignored.

 

“My-Love, what are you dreaming about?”

 

He was answered with silence at first, Mycroft obviously unsure whether he wanted to answer. Greg waited instead of pushing and was rewarded shortly afterwards.

 

“Eurus, the governor - memories mostly.”

 

“From your childhood?”

 

Another pause - considerably shorter this time.

 

“No - not since you came home.”

 

“Not since you told me about it.”

 

“I guess. I’m sure they’ll be back from time to time but right now it’s just Sherrinford.”

 

The name alone caused a shiver to run over Mycroft’s skin. Greg turned on the light. He looked his husband in the eye, steadying him through force of will. “What did happen there?”

 

“Didn’t Sherlock and John tell you?” Mycroft avoided his gaze.

 

“Not much. And it’s almost impossible with those two to know whether they are over-dramatising or completely playing down what has happened. I know people died and that she tried to kill John to further some psycho game she played with Sherlock but that’s about it.” Greg gently put a finger under Mycroft’s chin and forced him to look at him again. “How about I prepare us some hot chocolate? It will take us some time to fall asleep anyway so we can put the time to good use.”

 

When they sat in the kitchen each of them a steaming mug in front of them, Greg restarted the conversation.

 

“What _did_ happen at Sherrinford?”

 

Mycroft took a careful sip. “Do you insist on talking about this?”

 

“Look you’re having nightmares and they’re not getting better - at least not that I can see. I think you need to talk to someone and currently I’m available. I won’t force you to do anything but I honestly believe it might help you, husband-mine.”

 

“Are you still angry at me?”

 

“Miffed - maybe. But right now I’m too occupied being worried, seeing you this affected still. And no matter if I still personally wanted to throttle you, I would still want to help you when you’re in such a place.”

 

“Something I’m still unsure I deserve…”

 

“And you’re rapidly approaching ‘throttle’ territory. I don’t care what you think you deserve or not. Everybody deserves someone on their side - even if I’m not always perfect at being that person.”

 

“You’re the best so far who isn’t paid for the job.” Mycroft held his hand up to stop his husband’s protest. “The governor of Sherrinford - the man who ignored my orders regarding Eurus and over the course of years fell under her influence - shot his own brains out not five feet from where I was standing at that time. I have never witnessed a death that close up, especially not a violent one. And certainly not right after I was asked to kill the man by my own brother to spare his best friend the experience.”

 

Greg narrowed his eyes. “Sherlock asked you to kill a man?”

 

Mycroft stared into his mug rather than drinking. “It was the first round of Eurus’ game. Sherlock had to choose who of us would kill the man: John or me. If we didn’t comply she would kill his wife. Sherlock erroneously thought I would be better suited to go through with it.” Mycroft looked up his eyes pleading with Gregory. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t just shoot him.”

 

“Of course you couldn’t.” Greg remembered that Sherlock had made that decision once - shooting a man to protect Mary and John. But Magnussen had been a monster. “That’s not who you are.”

 

Mycroft closed his eyes. Tears of relief that someone at least understood escaping his closed eyelids. “John in the end couldn’t go through with it either. He killed himself trying to save his wife which of course was in vain…”

 

Greg took Mycroft’s hand.

 

“His name was David Malik. He was 64. His wife Leeta was 59. They had two adult sons and one granddaughter who is three. He would have retired in August. The smell of his death - gunpowder, blood, excrement - will never leave me. I was always able to distance myself from death. A body once dead is nothing but a physical object after all. But witnessing this…”

 

“It’ll take time to get over it.”

 

“In my dreams I pull the trigger. Sometimes I shoot the governor. Sometimes it’s Sherlock, sometimes John or Victor or Mummy or you.”

 

Greg moved next to Mycroft and pulled him in a hug. “You didn’t kill that man, Love. It’s not your fault.”

 

“That’s what I try to tell myself.”

 

“Maybe believe me if you can’t believe yourself then.”

 

Mycroft actually leaned into the hug. “I’ll try.”

***

 

“I talked to Sherlock today.”

 

“You did? Is he alright?”

 

“He’s fine - apparently someone called Mikopolous still owed him and had a free flat he is happy to have Sherlock use until Baker Street is available again - something about the man getting back at his wife. I couldn’t quite follow your brother’s reasoning.”

 

“Why did he call you?”

 

“He didn’t. I called him. And he didn’t hang up when I told him I didn’t have a case but just wanted to hear how he was doing.”

 

“That in itself is disturbing.”

 

“He apparently has talked with John. He said he’s nearly finished rearranging his mind-palace to fit around the rediscovered memories. He said he hasn’t reclaimed them all but enough to work with. ‘So you can tell the twat he can stop worrying on that front’.”

 

“That on the other hand sounds exactly like my brother.”

 

“Reassuring, isn’t it? He worries about you.”

 

Mycroft looked surprised. “He… told you that? Or is it just one of your Holmes intuitions?”

 

Greg held his head slightly crooked, studying his husband. “He actually said it. He also told me a few more of the things that happened at Sherrinford. Like the fact that you basically volunteered to be sacrificed.”

 

Mycroft hung his head in shame. “I wanted to make things more bearable for Sherlock.”

 

“By manipulating him for his own good?”

 

“He could have hated me afterwards. But there really was no time to reason things through with him. Sherlock _needs_ John. No one needs me that way.”

 

Greg actually lost his cool at those words. “You bloody IDIOT! Listen to yourself. Even if we ignore the fact that contrary to your and his claims Sherlock indeed needs you, and the fact that about half the country would collapse until your peers arranged a new status quo, what about me?”

 

Mycroft blinked at the violence of the outburst. “You don’t _need_ me. You are more than capable to look after yourself. You have friends.”

 

“Mycroft, you moron - why do you think I was so bloody pissed when I found out about Eurus? I thought that you lying to me meant that you’d never been the person I thought I knew. That I wasn’t as important to you as you were to me. I love you. And I need you. This marriage isn’t one-sided, you twat.”

 

Mycroft didn’t know what to do besides holding onto his husband when Greg pulled him into a hug and started crying into his shoulder.

***

 

“How was your parents’ visit to Sherrinford?”

 

Siger had tried calling him twice over the last weeks but Greg refused to talk with them as long as his in-laws decided to blackmail their oldest into doing what they wanted. He had answered the phone once when Violet called and had told her “Look if you can embrace your drug-addict adrenaline junkie son who shot a man and want to see your murderous psychopath daughter who’s a danger to everyone around her, then you should bloody well be grateful for the man who just tried to spare your feelings. Yes, I’m pissed too, but calling Sherlock the grown up to humiliate Mycroft is far beyond anything I consider acceptable.” He had ended the call before she had had a chance to answer.

 

“As well as could be expected. Sherlock’s violin play worked but she more or less ignored the rest of us for the length of the visit. And the things she said to Sherlock. The way she looked at our parents just before our time was up. Even Mother had to see what monster she had become - or rather always was.

 

She… took my hand at one point. It’s Mummy’s way to admit I might have been right. We didn’t talk much afterwards. Mother and Father were too much in shock. I think the memories simply didn’t prepare them.”

 

“Oh, My.” Once again he pulled his husband into a hug. A rather common occurrence over the last few weeks and Mycroft almost had grown used to it.

***

 

They worked on it every day and slowly Mycroft got better. His eating normalised. His relation to Anthea, Sherlock, John, his parents all slowly but surely went back to something close to before.

 

Greg had a couple of rows with Violet, Sherlock, John, and even Mrs. Hudson but these people were his friends, his family. Part of their reactions were more than understandable - like Mrs. Hudson’s and Violet’s anger at Mycroft’s lies - and some of their behaviour was part of being imperfect sometimes jerkish human beings - like John’s and Sherlock’s way of treating Mycroft over the discovery of Eurus’ existence.

 

In the end loving someone - being family - meant that you did your best to forgive them almost anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No sunny "everything is all better with the snip of the fingers" ending but hopeful enough I hope.
> 
> Thanks to all of you who hung around, read, left kudos, and commented. I hope you are not disappointed. And damn I need to write some fluff or crack next before I tackle the rest of the season...


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